Paul the Peddler Part 40

Mrs. Montgomery remembered Paul as the boy who was the real owner of the diamond ring, and she eyed him with increased suspicion.

"Did my husband send you? When did you see him."

"Just now, at Tiffany's," answered Paul, significantly.

"What is his message?" asked Mrs. Montgomery, beginning to feel uneasy.

Paul glanced at the landlady, who, in the hope of gratifying her curiosity, maintained her stand by his side.

"The message is private," he said.

"I suppose that means that I am in the way," remarked the landlady, sharply. "I don't want to pry into anybody's secrets. Thank Heaven, I haven't got any secrets of my own."

"Walk in, young man," said Mrs. Montgomery.

Paul entered the room, and she closed the door behind him. Meanwhile the landlady, who had gone part way downstairs, retraced her steps, softly, and put her ear to the keyhole. Her curiosity, naturally strong, had been stimulated by Paul's intimation that there was a secret.

"Now," said Mrs. Montgomery, impatiently, "out with it! Why does my husband send a message by you, instead of coming himself?"

"He can't come himself."

"Why can't he?"

"I am sorry to say that I am the bearer of bad news," said Paul, gravely. "Your husband has been arrested for robbing me of a diamond ring."

"Where is he?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, not so much excited or overcome as she would have been had this been the first time her husband had fallen into the clutches of the law.

"At the street station-house. He wants you to come and see him."

"Have you got the ring back?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Montgomery was sorry to hear it. She hoped her husband might be able to secrete it, in which case he would pa.s.s it over to her to dispose of. Now she was rather awkwardly situated, being without money, or the means of making any.

"I will go," she said.

Paul, who was sitting next to the door, opened it suddenly, with unexpected effort, for the landlady, whose ear was fast to the keyhole, staggered into the room involuntarily.

"So you were listening, ma'am, were you?" demanded Mrs. Montgomery, scornfully.

"Yes, I was," said the landlady, rather red in the face.

"You were in good business."

"It's a better business than stealing diamond rings," retorted the landlady, recovering herself. "I've long suspected there was something wrong about you and your husband, ma'am, and now I know it. I don't want no thieves nor jail birds in my house, and the sooner you pay your bill and leave, the better I'll like it."

"I'll leave as soon as you like, but I can't pay your bill."

"I dare say," retorted the landlady. "You're a nice character to cheat an honest woman out of four weeks' board."

"Well, Paul, what news?" asked Barry.

"I am ready to buy your stand," said Paul.

"Can you pay me all the money down?"

"On the spot."

"Then it is all settled," said Barry, with satisfaction. "I am glad of it, for now I shall be able to go on to Philadelphia to-morrow."

Paul drew a roll of bills from his pocket, and proceeded to count out thirty-five dollars. Barry noticed with surprise that he had a considerable amount left.

"You are getting rich, Paul," he said.

"I am not rich yet," answered Paul, "but I mean to be some time if I can accomplish it by industry and attention to business."

"You'll be sure to succeed," said George Barry. "You're just the right sort. Good-by, old fellow. When you come on to Philadelphia come and see me."

"I may establish a branch stand in Philadelphia before long," said Paul, jocosely.

CHAPTER XXVI

CONCLUSION

When Paul was left in charge of the stand, and realized that it was his own, he felt a degree of satisfaction which can be imagined. He had been a newsboy, a baggage-smasher, and in fact had pretty much gone the round of the street trades, but now he felt that he had advanced one step higher. Some of my readers may not appreciate the difference, but to Paul it was a great one. He was not a merchant prince, to be sure, but he had a fixed place of business, and with his experience he felt confident he could make it pay.

"I am sure I can make from ten to fifteen dollars a week," he said to himself. "I averaged over a dollar a day when I worked for George Barry, and then I only got half-profits. Now I shall have the whole."

This consideration was a very agreeable one. He would be able to maintain his mother and little Jimmy in greater comfort than before, and this he cared more for than for any extra indulgences for himself.

In fact, he could relieve his mother entirely from the necessity of working, and yet live better than at present. When Paul thought of this, it gave him a thrill of satisfaction, and made him feel almost like a man.

He set to work soliciting custom, and soon had sold three neckties at twenty-five cents each.

"All that money is mine," he thought, proudly. "I haven't got to hand any of it over to George Barry. That's a comfort."

As this thought occurred to him he recognized an old acquaintance strolling along the sidewalk in his direction. It was no other than Jim Parker, the friend and crony of Mike Donovan, who will be remembered as figuring in not a very creditable way in the earlier chapters of this story. It so happened that he and Paul had not met for some time, and Jim was quite ignorant of Paul's rise in life.

As for Jim himself, no great change had taken place in his appearance or prospects. His suit was rather more ragged and dirty than when we first made his acquaintance, having been worn night and day in the streets, by night stretched out in some dirty alley or out-of-the-way corner, where Jim found cheap lodgings. He strolled along with his hands in his pockets, not much concerned at the deficiencies in his costume.

"Hallo!" said he, stopping opposite Paul's stand. "What are you up to?"

"You can see for yourself," answered Paul. "I am selling neckties."